


A Hunter's Fairy Tale

by delicious-irony (deliciousirony), TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Embedded Images, Fae & Fairies, Fae Dean Winchester, Hunter Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Pre-Relationship, SPN Reverse Bang 2019, based on art, lots of implied things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 19:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21481753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicious-irony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Castiel has been a hunter for years and if there's one thing he knows, it's that there's no such thing as fairies.Turns out he's wrong.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: 2019 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge





	A Hunter's Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Created for [the SPN Reverse Bang](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) and based on the absolutely gorgeous art made by [Deliciousirony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/deli)  
Story betaed by the unfed gremlin, remaining mistakes are mine
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated. I might've forgotten important tags, let me know and I'll add them

* * *

The sky is an endless light blue plane with not a cloud in sight as far as Castiel can see, the sun shining merrily down at him and his surroundings pretending it’s still late summer, but whatever heat it may provide is too weak against the chill wind promising yet another night of temperatures well below zero*. What the sun lacks in warmth though it makes up for in radiance, his eyes watering whenever they’re caught in a beam.

In front of him the trees stand tall, dressed in their fall attire of fiery yellows, reds and orange; many of them fallen into piles on the ground. There’s no other sound than the quiet rustle of leaves still clinging to twigs and sprigs, nor can he see any movement beyond that which is caused by the faint breeze.

Castiel tightens his grip on the machete is in his left hand, clicks off the safety on the gun in his right and slowly steps forward.  
Between the trees it’s already dusk, the canopy still able to keep out most of the sun’s light and this close to winter even the few degrees temperature drop makes him shiver in his wadded jacket and lament not replacing his scarf yet. A noise drags him from his thoughts just as something small and fast runs across the path he’s on, reminding him there’s a purpose other than getting some fresh air for him being here.

It’s too dark for him to reliably use the paths made by the larger animals calling this forest their home, so he sticks to the one clearly used to motorized traffic, though he keeps at the edge of it, crouching, hoping to make both a smaller target as well as not looking like a human.

Luck’s on his side as he hears his prey before they notice him, two disembodied voices drifting through the air alerting him to their presence barely ten feet to his left. Castiel turns and knowing where to go he tries to be as quiet as possible, hoping that what noises he does make aren’t different from that of the forest’s inhabitants. They aren’t or their voices drown out what noise he’s making, and he can see a small clearing where two figures are facing each other in what appears to be a heated argument.

Carefully raising his right arm Castiel tears through the evening silence, sending the winged creatures into the air and most every other from their peaceful dens, the air a cacophony of their shrill and terrified voices. Before him the two figures fall to the ground and he holsters the gun before transferring the machete to his right hand. Then he steps into the clearing, moves next to the closest figure.

The blade sings as he swings it in an arch from above his head down to the figure’s neck, separating its head from its body. Sputtering sounds are coming from the other figure as Castiel uses his foot to make sure the head is completely detached from the neck and when he turns he meets a pair of eyes burning with fury and hatred; the shiver running down his spine has nothing to do with the cold and only experience allows him to step close enough to bring the machete down once more, making sure they’re both dead.

Taking a minute to convince his last meal to stay where it is - even after all these years it still makes him queasy killing monsters looking just like any regular human - before bending down to open their mouths to look for their fangs. Confirming what he already knew, Castiel takes the shovel on his back and unfolds it, then starts digging a hole in between the trees at the edge of the clearing.

The soil’s still loose enough it only takes him a few hours to make a hole big enough for the two bodies and in a matter of minutes they’re entangled in their freshly dug grave and Castiel is piling dirt onto them. In the near darkness of nearly night he tries to remove any evidence of both his own and the vampires’ presence before making his way back out of the forest and to his car, taking off in the opposite direction from where he came.

Shortly before midnight Castiel stops for gas and a cup of overpriced coffee. The brown liquid drunk he begins looking for somewhere to sleep and in less than an hour he’s paid some half-asleep teen for a small, hopefully not roach infested, room. He’s asleep the instant he hits the bed.

~

Castiel wakes with a groan. The sun’s shining through the threadbare curtains and there’s a crick in his neck from the lumpy mattress and he feels like he’s a hundred years old. He stares up into the water damaged ceilings, tormenting himself with thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘if only’ long enough the sun’s no longer at the window. Then, at long last, he drags himself from the bed into the adjoining bathroom where he strips out of last night’s clothes before stepping into the shower.

There’s hardly any pressure but the water’s warm and there seems to be an endless supply of it, so Castiel stays under the spray until his muscles loosen and he feels a bit closer to his usual self. A towel hangs on a peg next to the shower curtain that he uses to dry off and a quick look at yesterday’s pants tells him he needs a clean pair.  
Under the guise of darkness, they hadn’t looked so bad but in the bright light of day the dark stains might arouse suspicion and despite the many miles between last night’s forest and today’s motel there’s no need to risk it.

Dry and dressed Castiel carefully folds his dirty clothes and puts them into a bag that he places in his backpack; then he cleans all traces of dried mud, leaves and the like as best he can from both the bed and the floors before taking his belongings out into the car. It’s a different, bored looking teen that greets him when he steps back into the reception area to hand his key back, but they guide him to the nearest diner where he’ll be able to get something to eat before leaving whatever town this is behind.

He’s barely taken a seat before the waitress - a woman who looks old enough to be his grandmother, skin dark and leathery witnessing of a love of the outdoors, face crisscrossed with deep laugh lines to match her wide smile and sparkling eyes - is placing a cup in front of him, pouring coffee from the carafe in her hand.

“You’re ready to order, or you need a minute, hon’?” her voice is decades younger than her face; deep, warm and smooth like a fine whisky. Castiel looks at her, a smile of his own forming on his lips in answer to hers.

“Bacon, hash brown and waffles, please.”

“Sure thing,” she’s already yelling his order towards the kitchen leaving him to scroll through the news on his phone. It feels like it’s barely a minute before a plate of perfectly crisp bacon and hash browns are put before him, a plate of equally perfect, golden waffles next to him and his cup being refilled with freshly brewed coffee.

Castiel thanks her and begins eating, every mouthful tastes better than the last and when there’s nothing left and she comes by to fill his cup a third time he orders a stack of pancakes, too. She grins and tells him it’s nice to see a handsome young man with a healthy appetite and is gone once more before the blush fully forms in his cheeks. The pancakes are as good as the rest of the meal, though he declines yet another refill of his cup.

While eating he keeps scrolling through different news sites, looking for his next hunt. He doesn’t find anything of interest and the four cups of coffee he’s had so far are making their presence known and as he’s done eating, he pushes the plate aside and gets up to use the facilities. When he comes back the plate’s gone, replaced with a bottle of water and the bill which he picks up and looks over; reaching into his pants pocket he comes back with a couple of tens that he puts on the table, placing the bill on top of them then grabs the bottle of water and with a wave at the waitress - who’s currently taking another patron’s order - he leaves the diner.

For hours he drives, miles and miles of asphalt disappearing beneath the tires of the car as he makes his way home - an old house his great grandfather had built as a newly married man some 150 years ago, that had been in the family ever since, and though it’s fallen into disrepair since Castiel has picked up hunting it’s still good enough for a few weeks rest between hunts.  
Castiel stops for gas and the occasional meal and every time he doesn’t find anything of note on the news he gets back behind the wheel and keeps going for as long as possible before pulling in somewhere, reclining his seat and sleeping for a few hours. Nearly two weeks after the vampires he pulls into his overgrown driveway, grabs his backpack and unlocks his front door.

There’s a fine layer of dust everywhere and an unpleasant, moldy smell from the kitchen that has him cursing silently at himself for forgetting to empty the fridge before he left. Castiel, who’s been driving for the past twenty hours, decides it can wait until he’s slept. The bed feels like heaven after days of sleeping in the car and even though the bedding smells of dust he manages to fall asleep.

Castiel wakes sneezing, the pillow pushed to the floor but the corner of the duvet tickling his nose. He feels well rested so he gets up, puts on a pair of sweats and an old shirt then wanders into the kitchen. With the coffee brewing he decides to tackle the fridge first; on his way to the closet with his cleaning supplies he opens every window on his way and then goes back armed with a bucket, scrub sponges and dish towels. Back in the kitchen he first pours himself a cup of coffee then fills the bucket with hot water adding a little dish soap. While it cools, he takes out the trash and then tackles emptying the fridge.

It takes a lot of breath holding and praying for strength but he manages without accident. He takes out the shelves to wash separately then carefully scrubs the inside of the fridge, changes the water and does it again and then a third time. Then he carefully dries it off and leaves the door open and rewards himself with a cup of coffee and an episode of some old comedy series he’s seen before but can’t remember the title of.

By then it’s too cold with all the open windows so he closes them and then begins cleaning the rest of the house which, thankfully, is simply dusting off, vacuuming and washing the floors; not wanting to wake up sneezing again he takes off the bedding and washes everything. Tired and a little sore he orders a pizza and then spends the rest of his evening on the couch watching tv and eventually falling asleep, getting into his bed somewhere around 3 in the morning.

For the next few days Castiel mostly lazes about, the fridge back in working order now holds a gallon of milk, some carrots, a half-eaten cucumber and a bell pepper; there’s a few eggs still in the door, a forgotten lemon pushed against the back on the bottom shelf and a few half empty packets of lunch meat.  
Like always he enjoys the comforts of being home, the divine water pressure, easy access to a washing machine and dryer, a bed not shared with half of the country and a myriad of other little things he doesn’t necessarily miss when on a hunt but definitely appreciates when not.

Eventually the feeling of having to do something sneaks up on him, the stack of empty pizza boxes grows while the vegetables in the fridge shrivel up with suspicious spots growing visible on their surface and Castiel spending far too many hours staring at web page after web page without luck. Until he stumbles across a small paragraph in a small, local newspaper that informs him the search for Jim Singer has been called off. Looking further Castiel learns the man had been gone for a week at the time the search was called off, nearly 70 years old and the official story goes that he’d ventured into the nearby forest and had gotten lost and most likely succumbed to the weather. Had that been all Castiel would’ve given up and gone to bed, but then there’s a picture from that very forest and despite the poor quality he’s 99% sure he’s looking at a mushroom circle, something that, in his experience at least, tends to draw in monsters.

Dawn is fast approaching when Castiel has two lists; one with ten names and the other with an additional 40. All of them names of people who has vanished in the area the newspaper reporting about Mr. Singer covers, and while only ten of them have been confirmed to have disappeared in the forest Castiel has a feeling the same goes for the other 40, and probably more, but the web archive only went back ten years.

Yawning, Castiel was surprised to see the time and now that he was aware, he realized his back and neck were hurting from leaning steadily closer to the screen over the past how many hours he’d been sitting here. Stretching he groaned in relief when his back popped and then went to bed; he’d originally planned to leave immediately, but figures in his current state he’s far more likely to crash the car than reach his destination.  
Waking from a fitful sleep Castiel made coffee and while it was brewing packed his clothes and threw out the few things still in the fridge. With the trash in one hand, a thermos filled with coffee in the other and his clothes in the back pack he locked the front door behind him; he dumped the trash in the large, green trash can by the fence, got into his car and drove off.

* * *

Castiel was _this_ close to giving up. Nobody had known anything about Jim Singer’s disappearance and when he’d tried to ask about any of the other persons on his list people suddenly remembered important appointments or not so subtly changed the subject. It had been frustrating and gotten him nowhere.  
Shortly after his arrival another person had disappeared - 40-year-old Norah Miller who’d had both a husband and two children - and still nobody was willing to answer his questions. Not getting anything from the locals Castiel had turned to the library where a way too chipper librarian had informed him that yes, they had had old copies of the local newspaper on microfilm, no, he couldn’t see them as they’d been lost in a fire a few years prior.  
The only thing he’d had any luck with was finding the photographer of the mushroom circle, sadly the man couldn’t remember precisely where the picture was taken, and now Castiel was wandering yet another darkening forest.

At least there are no vampires here, he thought to himself as yet another noise made him spin in place, trying to see if he could tell what had made the sound. The path he was walking was still relatively visible, the canopy not yet reaching across it, but in between the trees it was getting rather dark, his flashlight not strong enough to penetrate it. There was maybe an hour of daylight left and Castiel decided to walk for another ten minutes and if he still didn’t find anything he’d turn around and get back to his car.  
He’s in the middle of the first step after the impromptu stop when a voice rings through the air, too far away for him to make out the words but judged from the tone and the hisses Castiel doubts it’s anything one would hear in polite company anyway. Curious, tight lipped as the locals had been, he’d still gotten the impression they wouldn’t be near the forest this close to sunset, he makes his way in the direction the voice comes from.

Castiel takes one final step and gets the impression of a child sized person before there’s a bright light like the flash of an old camera and he can’t see anything other than the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Fuck!” it’s nearly yelled directly into his ear, the volume making Castiel flinch; the ground is hard and cold beneath him and he wonders when and how he fell.

“Where did you… crap, Sam’s going to skin me. What the hell, man,” the person’s voice is pleasantly deep at the beginning but rises in pitch the longer they speak. Then there’s the audible deep breath of someone trying to calm themselves and then, low enough Castiel thinks he isn’t supposed to hear it.

“Okay, you can fix this Dean. Nothing to worry about, just open the door and deposit him on the other side. No problem, piece of fricking cake.” As the person - Dean, apparently - keeps muttering to himself Castiel’s eyes finally begin to work properly. As suspected he’s lying prone on the forest floor in a pile of dead leaves, the trees above him seems like they’re thousands of miles away and he suspects he might’ve hit his head a little too hard going down; which of course is a worrying thing in and on itself as he doesn’t remember falling.  
As the ranting continues Castiel turns his eyes towards them, taking in the person who is no longer child-sized but now seems to be slightly taller than him. In the darkness Castiel can’t really make out anything but the height, pale skin and light hair or maybe it’s a cap, he can’t really tell.

“Dean,” an exasperated voice startles both the ranting person and Castiel, who’s currently trying to get up before he becomes a popsicle lying on the ground. Dean, whoever he is, turns and bows in Castiel’s direction, and as Castiel very much doubts it’s at him he turns his head to see the newcomer.  
He can’t until they move closer and he sees a dark-skinned woman with black, shoulder length curls framing her face; calm radiates from her, putting Castiel at ease though he hadn’t realized he wasn’t already. She looks down at him and smiles invitingly, then back up at ‘Dean’;

“Bring him to the Hall,” with that she turns her back at them and presumably starts walking. ‘Dean’ grumbles before grabbing Castiel’s hand, pulling him to his feet.

“This way,” he says and begins walking, Castiel hurriedly following.

They walk in silence for less than ten minutes before stopping in front of a set of large doors in a gigantic, toadstool shaped building, and what appears to be a guard on either side of them.

“Missouri awaits us,” his companion tells them, the one on the left turning slightly before lifting his hand and knocking. At first nothing happens then there’s the sound of hasty footsteps before the door creaks open and a hand beckons them closer.

Castiel follows his companion into what feels like a relatively small room in terms of floor space but as if the ceiling is very, very far away. They follow the backside of the person beckoning them inside to a wall with a set of significantly smaller, metallic doors; a button in the wall that the person presses and then the ‘ding’ of an elevator arriving. There’s a little light in the cart that he and ‘Dean’ steps into; while his companion presses the top button Castiel takes the time to study him a little closer.  
He’s quite handsome in Castiel’s humble opinion; a pair of tight pants showing off his long, slightly bowed legs; bare arms corded with muscle attached to broad shoulders, the loose shirt teasing at an equally toned torso. Strong jaw and full, pink lips upturned in a permanent smile; straight nose and the greenest eyes Castiel has ever seen on a human being. His hair - not a cap then, Castiel thinks to himself, wondering how the guy hasn’t turned into a popsicle considering his attire - verges on the edge between blonde and brown; Castiel doesn’t offer it much thought, his attention drifting back to the man’s stunning eyes.

The elevator dings its arrival and Castiel tears his eyes away to see the doors opening into a well-lit, large, circular room that they step into. The doors close behind them and as they make their way forward Castiel takes in the guards standing at the walls, close enough one can put their hand on their neighbor’s shoulder. If not for the colors – different shades of green and brown – of what they’re wearing, Castiel would say they looked like a SWAT team, though rather than guns it looks like they’re armed with batons.  
Between each guard large paintings hang on the walls depicting the forest during the year; they’re surrounded by smaller images of every lifeform calling the forest their home; Castiel has never seen anything like it, but soon finds his attention drawn towards the chairs in the middle of the room, where the woman from before sits in the middle one.

They stop a few steps from them, Castiel mimicking ‘Dean’s’ bow as best he can. In the light Castiel can see the woman is wearing pants and shirt much like his companion’s though like with his there’s something off about it, there’s the same shimmer he associates with the road on those too warm summer’s days where nothing seems quite real before it’s almost on top of you.  
Castiel’s brought from his musings when four pair of eyes suddenly land heavily on him; the two persons flanking the woman are wearing red robes with intricate patterns in gold thread, their faces so wrinkled he can’t even see their eyes though he can feel their gaze. He clears his throat awkwardly, wondering what to do.

The woman smiles, her melodic voice weaving around him like a blanket on a cold winter’s evening; “so, you came at last, Castiel.”

“How do you know my name?”

It’s the person on her left who answers, their voice high and frail with age, breaking on every other word as if they rarely speak; “we know the names of all living beings; we’ve known yours for millennia, since before your kind developed language.”  
And while it answers his question it also raises quite a few more. Castiel goes for the obvious one first; “what do you mean ‘my kind’?”

The person on the woman’s right snorts, amusement clear in a voice equally high and frail as their counterpart’s; “humans, of course. Huge, clumsy and far too certain of your own superiority.” They hum thoughtfully before continuing, “but, so are we, so we shouldn’t hold that against you,” they laugh and sink back into the chair, seemingly exhausted.

“We hardly need another bumbling idiot, Sweetflame,” the one on the left scoffs, “Dean’s already got that covered.”

“Enough,” this time the woman’s voice is filled with the deadly power of the frozen tundras of the far north. She turns to face the one on her left; “you’re welcome to go deal with this yourself, Ferntoad,” she holds their gaze for a while, letting the silence stretch between them until Ferntoad turns slightly.

“I apologize, young one,” the words sound like they’re causing the speaker excruciating pain, and as soon as the last syllable leaves the wrinkled mouth, Ferntoad sinks back into the chair. The woman nods and looks to her right where Sweetflame radiates smugness but doesn’t offer further commentary; then she looks back at Castiel and his companion, her demeanor changing to the warm and welcoming woman she had been when they’d first entered the room. Castiel goes to take a step backwards only to be stopped by a large hand on his arm.

“You won’t be able to leave until Missouri allows it. Might as well listen to her.” The man grins then winks at the woman who sighs audibly though Castiel can see the fondness sparkling in her eyes.

“Whelp,” she says affectionately then she looks at Castiel. “But he’s right, nobody leaves this room unless I will it.”

“I’m a prisoner then?” Castiel’s question is met with laughter, he would even swear from some of the guards at the walls; Sweetflame leaning forward, their old voice laced with amusement and something darker;

“We have no need for prisoners, human,” and it might be Castiel’s imagination but he’s certain that for a fraction of a second he sees a hint of too sharp teeth and some primal instinct urges him to run; Castiel has spent years ignoring that particular instinct, though he still swallows nervously and turns his attention back on the woman with her perfectly normal teeth.

She rolls her eyes - under different circumstances it would’ve made him laugh, she seems too regal for such mundane an action. “Please excuse my advisor, manners isn’t something that has ever burdened either of them,” low enough Castiel doesn’t think anybody else hears it the man beside him makes a sound of agreement.

“Speaking of. I’m the queen of the forest fae and as such laden with names you can’t pronounce and more titles than I care to remember. You can call me Missouri,” she gets up from her chair and reaches out her hand. Castiel takes it and shakes it politely.

“And I’m Castiel, though your majesty already seems to know this.” Missouri grins and waves her arm, the advisors getting up and walking off into the shadows, the guards presumably following, at least based on the noise.

“Missouri’s fine, we don’t really stand on ceremony here. And this here is Dean,” they nod at each other and Missouri begins walking, motioning for them to follow her.  
As they reach the elevator the doors open and the three of them steps inside, Missouri pressing her thumb to the metal plate just below the down-arrow; the cart lurches and five seconds later the doors open once more. Dean's the first one out, and soon a soft light illuminates a small room with heavy velvet drapes hanging down from the ceiling and five arm chairs around a low oval table.  
While trying to determine the light source Castiel apparently hesitates for too long so Missouri links her arm with his and drags him with her; she’s impressingly strong for a woman a head shorter and a few decades older than him. She laughs as if she knows what he’s thinking.  
“Flattery will get you everywhere, but ‘decades’ isn’t the measurement I’d choose.” Castiel doesn’t know how to respond to that so he chooses to remain silent.

The chair’s as comfortable as it had looked from the elevator cart and Castiel sinks into it with a sigh, Dean taking the one to his right, their host disappearing behind the drapes, sounds soon drifting out towards them. Castiel gets the feeling there might be multiple rooms hidden behind the drapes, making up whatever kind of abode these people might deem befitting for a queen.

They sit in silence, Dean fiddling with something while Castiel tries to gather his thoughts. He’d come here expecting - and prepared for - wendigos, has found this particular monster near mushroom circles before and always chalked their existence up to the wendigo’s decaying leftovers. Hell, despite the things he’s hunted for the past decades, everything he’s seen, Castiel has never really _believed_ in fairies, has considered them myth rather than reality, or a metaphor for corrupting urges of a typically sexual nature. However, as he’s apparently been wrong he racks his brain, trying to remember what he’s ever read about fairies that might be useful in his current situation.

A few minutes pass and all Castiel can think of is not eating or drinking anything offered by a fairy, when Missouri returns with a tray in her hands that she sets down on the table before taking the chair opposite her guests. Steam billows from the cups containing a dark liquid; she leans forward and places one in front of each of them, lifts a plate with a few slices of what Castiel would assume to be some sort of cake that she places in the middle of the table after setting the tray down on the floor. Dean immediately reaches for the cake, munching away happily and washing it down with whatever’s in the cup.

“Elderberry juice diluted with water and sweetened with honey. Should be safe for human consumption. The cake is mostly acorn, which should be edible but you’ll might find it a bit acrid.” Missouri takes a sip from her cup then holds it between her hands as if they’re cold.

“That wasn’t really my concern,” Castiel says and beside him Dean snorts in amusement, placing his now empty cup back on the table.

“Old wives’ tales, Cas, if we kept every human who ate our food or drank our water we’d’ve died out before you lot figured out how to make fire.” A pause, then; “but if it’ll make you feel better I can eat your slice; Missouri does make the best acorn-cake after all.”

Castiel gives the plate a pointed look to which Dean shrugs and takes the last slice, takes a big bite and chews away happily; Castiel turns his attention back at Missouri who’s silently laughing at them. Noticing Castiel looking at her she grows serious though he can still see the mirth in her eyes where they dart between him and Dean; he has a feeling she wouldn’t tell him why if he asked.

“There’s _some_ truth to those tales,” Missouri allows, all traces of amusement gone from her face. “But you have my word that whatever food and drink I offer you won’t prevent your safe return to your own realm.”  
Castiel frowns; vaguely recalls having read somewhere a fairy can’t break a promise. He reaches for the cup, breathes in smell and takes a careful sip; it tastes like summer, the tartness of the sun ripened berries soothed by the sweetness of the honey, the concoction heating him from the inside out. He places the empty cup back on the table.

“So, if I’m not a prisoner and I can still go home, then why am I here?”

“Grey dwarves,” Dean’s words are followed by coughing as he was still mid-slice, some of the cake going down the wrong way. Castiel has no idea what he’s talking about and says so.

Missouri tells him they’re fae who’ve had their magic ripped from them who are now consumed with hatred towards both human and fae, though nobody knows what they do to them when they catch them. Over the years the fae have only found a few broken bodies - enough there’s been speculation if the grey dwarves are trying to restore their magic by stealing it from others, but even the thought seems absurd.  
They talk for a few hours, Missouri providing the historical knowledge and Dean the practical as soon as Castiel agrees to help them and they have to plan how to proceed. However, it’s been a long day, and at some point fatigue catches up to him making him yawn. Dean pulls him from the chair, bids Missouri good night and drags him back to the elevator.

Back at ground level there’s no sign of the person who’d let them in but the guards outside are still there. A few steps from the building it’s too dark for Castiel to see anything and he makes sure to follow Dean as closely as possible without stepping on the other man. They walk in silence for a few minutes before they stop in front of yet another toadstool shaped building, though this is significantly smaller, Dean opening a door and waving him inside.

“My brother, Sam, is on patrol tonight, so you can have his bed for a few hours,” Dean gestures inside a tiny room, Castiel nods and steps inside, taking of his coat and shirt, toeing off his shoes and slipping out of his jeans before crawling under the covers; he’s asleep within minutes.

* * *

It’s been a week and they’re nowhere closer to finding the grey dwarves than they had at the beginning.  
Waking up that first morning Castiel had for a moment been convinced it had all been some sort of fever dream. But the bed definitely wasn’t his, just as the sun was hitting his face at a wrong angle and he could smell food cooking. Reluctantly he’d gotten up and leaving the room had seen Dean placing two bowls of something that looked like porridge on a table. It hadn’t tasted like anything Castiel had ever eaten before but it had been quite good.  
They’d eaten in silence, Dean clearly not a morning person either, and when they were done they’d left their bowls in the pristine sink before going outside. At which point Castiel could no longer convince himself this was a dream, as there was no way he’d’ve ever thought up something like this.

Seeing them in day light Castiel realized he’d been wrong the night before. The buildings weren’t toadstool _shaped_, they were actual toadstools that were somehow inhabitable. Dean, ignorant to the revelation Castiel was having, motioned at him to follow and disappeared from sight.  
Standing in front of an enclosure of sorts, Dean stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Castiel was about to ask what was going on when he heard the beat of giant wings and a huge dragonfly descended from the air.

“Impala can carry us both and it’ll be faster than walking.” Dean patted the dragonfly before getting up on the railing and onto the dragonfly’s back. Castiel stared.  
“We’re wasting daylight,” Dean’s impatience getting Castiel’s feet moving and soon he was sitting behind him - _on the back of a dragonfly_ he thought to himself and was proud that he only sounded slightly hysterical - arms wrapped around Dean’s stomach, face hidden between his shoulder blades and eyes closed tightly.

The dragonfly took off and as Castiel didn’t instantly plummet to his death he slowly opened his eyes to look around. Below them was the toadstool city, he could see doors and windows in both the stems and the caps though the toadstools themselves still seemed to be alive and healthy organisms - not that Castiel knew all that much about mushrooms, it was just a feeling he got looking at them.  
He saw a few little figures walking around on the ground but they were already too far away for him to make out any details or see if they were doing anything in particular. The dragonfly suddenly veered left and Castiel reflexively tightened his hold on Dean to the other man’s amusement, but if he said anything it was lost to the wind and Castiel now taking in his surroundings.

They were still in the forest, and while the trees had definitely been taller than him by now they all looked gigantic, almost like they were nearly touching the sky which itself seemed to be endless miles away. The dragonfly turned slightly once more and now Castiel could see they’d nearly flown into what looked like a fern, though he’d never heard of ferns of that size. A few of the inhabited mushrooms were scattered on the ground but the further they flew the fewer he saw until all he could see was grass and stinging nettles and whatever else usually grows on the forest floor, all of it bigger than he remembered.

They’d flown for maybe an hour when the dragonfly had started losing height; Castiel had had a brief moment of panic before realizing it was simply preparing to land, which it did as gently as it had taken off, Dean jumping off of its back and reaching out to help Castiel who had to resist the urge to throw himself to the ground and refuse to ever get up again. He had a feeling Dean knew though, based on the grin he sent him after sending the dragonfly away.  
“You’ll get used to it. And the view’s awesome.” His words were followed by hand movements and a few whispered words and suddenly the world was proper sized once more. At least until Castiel looked to the side where Dean rather than being a few inches taller than him had shrunk to about Castiel’s waist.

“That too,” Dean grinned and turned towards Castiel’s car. Opening the trunk and removing the false bottom Castiel looked over his weapons. A bag of salt and one with metal shavings went to his coat pocket, a couple lighters refilled and stuffed into a jeans pocket, his trusty gun and machete hanging from his belt. Turning to Dean he asked;

“Anything else that might be of use?”

Dean had shrugged. “If that doesn’t work we probably won’t have time to try anything else.” Conceding his point Castiel put the false bottom back, closed and locked the car and then turned back towards the forest.

They search through the forest during the day and retreats to the room Castiel had rented upon arrival when the sun sets, as they’d agreed it would be both less dangerous and easier to hunt the grey dwarves as humans rather than fae. Not that it had mattered as they haven’t even found evidence of them having been somewhere.  
Their evenings are spent eating greasy take out and talk. Dean mostly talks about his brother, every word laced with pride even when telling about the pranks he’s played on him. In return Castiel shares his own story, how his dad had left when he was a kid and the werewolf killing his mother years later - not that he’d known that at the time, but then a guy named Rufus had shown up and after disposing of the thing had stuck around long enough to teach Castiel a thing or two and then point him in the right direction if he wanted to learn more.

Castiel - who’s always felt a little lonely, even in the company of others - is surprised at the ease with which he falls into friendship with Dean; how effortlessly they fit each other. Often he’ll blink and realize they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes for several minutes the room shrouded in shadows and silence, their foreheads nearly touching where they’re both leaning closer.  
They move around each other as if they’ve had years of practice, one anticipating the other’s move, preventing them from getting drenched in coffee or get stuck in the tiny bathroom when getting ready for sleep as well as ensuring neither’s back is open for a potential attack.

It turns out to be what saves them. The night before they’d agreed the grey dwarves had most likely left the area seeing as the humans had practically stopped going into the woods, but before going to Missouri and her advisors to share their theory they’d decided to go for yet another round.  
Neither of them had seen the human-like footprints nor noticed the leaves rustling despite the lack of wind as they’d long since abandoned their search in favor of sharing memories of happier times.  
The first grey dwarf leaped towards Castiel’s face; barely three feet tall he’d have been impressed by its ability to do so if not for the fact that it’s clawed fingers were scrambling for purchase and its fanged maw was snapping shut not even an inch from his throat. Raising his hands to push its head away it managed to trap a few fingers between its fangs and bite through glove and skin making him bleed; it hurt, but not as much as the ghoul that had nearly gutted him a few years earlier and Castiel calmly clenched his other hand, punching the grey dwarf in the nose. It screeched in pain and for a second it was too distracted to keep up its attack, giving him time to unsheathe his hunting knife, stabbing the thing where he’d assume its heart would be.

As soon as the first one fell two more took its place, sharp claws digging into his thick clothes tearing at it to get to soft flesh and vital organs. Castiel swung the knife down, hitting one with the hilt causing it to lose its grip and landing on its dead comrade just as the other managed angle one of its feet up under the hem of his jacket, digging its claws into his thigh; he yelped, shifted the grip on his knife and separated its head from its shoulder.  
Behind him he could hear Dean mutter something, the sound of the aluminum bat Castiel had bought - after the fae had assured him he’d be able to use it as it didn’t contain any iron - connecting with bone. He swiftly ended the second grey dwarf’s life before it could get back up from the ground and then turned to help Dean, just as the last one fell to the ground.

It turned out that finding the grey dwarves lair was significantly easier when they were no longer alive to hide their tracks, making sure the last few ones wouldn’t be kidnapping anybody else nearly as easy and Castiel’s conscience felt a little better when they found both Jim Singer and Norah Miller alive along with a couple of teenagers that had only been taken a few days ago.  
While Castiel cut the ropes around their hands and herded them in the direction of the town, Dean hid in the shadows, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air Castiel hoped he’d be able to ask about later.

It took until reaching the edge of the forest for Castiel to convince them they were out of danger and as soon as they were out of sight he turned on his heel, hurrying back towards the lair where he’d left Dean.  
Apparently he’d been in touch with Missouri, as she and her two advisors were overseeing a few fae Castiel hadn’t seen before move the dead grey dwarves into the caves they’d made their home; once the task was complete the advisors stepped up to the entrance and croaked a few words, seemingly setting the entire cave ablaze.

* * *

Cas laughs as Impala flaps its wings and takes off, its body glinting in the warm sunlight and Dean a solid presence in front of him. They’ve done this countless time and still Castiel clings to him, arms wrapped securely around Dean’s middle, his chest pressed to Dean’s broad back. They circle the city, Dean wellaware of Cas’ fascination with the toadstool houses even after all this time. When he figures Cas has had enough he nudges Impala further upwards before letting her decide the course, enjoying the feel of Cas’ arms around him and letting his own joyous laugh mingle with Cas’ as they soar through the forest.

[end]


End file.
